Hot and Heavy
by Duchess Emma
Summary: After a drunken Caitlin implies that Barry is somehow passionless, he decides to prove her wrong. Very wrong. Pure Snowbarry because we all know that it's gonna happen. Rating's at T, but will go up. Oh, it will. Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

Hot and Heavy

By Duchess Emma

"I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wraps my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

-Charlotte Bronte, _Jane Eyre_

Chapter 1

"So tell us, man, are you and Patty hot and heavy yet?" Cisco asked with a suggestive wiggle of his dark eyebrows.

The large sip of her fourth vodka tonic sloshed around in her mouth, burning her tongue before Caitlin finally swallowed it. The very last thing that she wanted to discuss, let alone think about in her drunken haze was Barry and Patty…having sex.

She thought she saw Barry's eyes briefly shift to her before he responded, "Geez, Cisco, where are your manners? Since when does my sex life, or lack thereof, fall under the purview of Team Flash?"

She breathed a small sigh of relief. Right, because she wasn't interested in knowing the sordid details of his time with Patty…not because he said "lack thereof"…

"Come on, man, details. I get weird vibrations every time I touch my most recent date…girlfriend…metahuman hottie. I'm trying…we're trying" he gestured between him and her, "to live vicariously through you."

"We?" she finally spoke, loudly and a bit slurred. "I don't think so. Barry's right. Keep your lecherous inquires to yourself."

"Thank you, Dr. Snow," Barry replied, his eyes twinkling a bit as he leaned back in his chair. _It's just the dim lighting in the pub_ , she told herself as she clinked around the ice in the bottom of her glass.

It wasn't as if she was immune to Barry's considerable charm. He was attractive, after all. That thick hair, those green eyes, the bright smile. She wasn't frigid, despite what some people might think. He was hot, a metahuman hottie in fact. But he wasn't…that is, she wasn't interested in him that way.

It was merely a crush. An innocent crush at that. Something maybe a little deeper than her brief flirtation with Jay. Right. That's what this was. Barry was always there. And they were friends. Good friends. Best friends, at least he was one of her best friends. It was only natural that she develop feelings for him at a certain point. So what if she thought about him a bit more than usual? Worried about him more than she should? He was special to her. And if maybe at night she thought about him in less than…innocent ways, well, that was normal too. Then why did it make her feel guilty? Why did she feel like she was somehow betraying Ronnie's memory? And why did her breath catch and her heart pound just looking at him across the table now?

"Besides," she continued as she waved down their server, anxious to drown her tormented thoughts with more libations, "Barry's a _nice_ guy."

She knew that she said something wrong when both Cisco and Barry furrowed their brows.

"Nice guy?" Barry asked, a frown on his lips. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Yes," Cisco inquired amusedly, "do tell us, Dr. Snow. What exactly do you mean by ' _nice_ guy'?"

Turning to Barry, she responded, "I only meant that you're sweet. Kind. You just aren't that type of guy. You're not really the hot and heavy kind."

Cisco sat back and looked between them, eyebrows comically raised and bottom lip pushed out in interested surprise. Barry continued to frown.

"Are you suggesting that I'm some type of…eunuch? "he asked softly. There was an undercurrent of anger, disappointment even in his words.

Cisco muffled a chuckle at her reaction, but Barry's crestfallen face made her anxious to clarify. "What? No. Obviously not. I mean, I know you aren't because I've seen" as if its own volition, her hand gestured to his groin hidden below the edge of the table. "…I mean, in my capacity as your personal physician…." She felt her face flame red, the alcohol making her even more awkward. Oh God, she sounded like Felicity. This was bad. Very, very, very bad. Vodka did not make her articulate. It only made her dumb.

Gathering herself before she continued with more of her embarrassing commentary, she said with a sigh, "What I meant to say is that you are sweet. Kind. Chivalrous, even. You're not the type of guy to like rip a woman's clothes off in the heat of passion and ravish her against a desk. You're respectful, gentle, not some alpha-male right out of a trashy novel." _Except for in my wildest fantasies where you do exactly that and more…that I_ don't _think about late at night…_

If anything he looked even more puzzled. "Fine, I'm sweet. But are you suggesting that I'm passionless?"

She shifted uncomfortably. He had passion. It was just controlled, directed towards things that mattered. Running faster. Family. Getting his father released. Revenge. He didn't need to waste his energy on unnecessary things. Women were attracted to him, both as Barry and the Flash. But he'd chosen to watch and wait for Iris from afar. Sure, he was passionate about her—something that still unsettled her now-but not in a can't-eat-can't-sleep-can't-breath kind of way. It was a muted passion, contained for maximum endurance.

Not that she was an expert in passion. She and Ronnie had never been excessively passionate. They'd skipped over the whole dopamine-induced sex sessions. And the day he'd returned last year they'd spent the time chatting, not in bed. Their relationship had been built on mutual respect and love. It was a lovely, special, and deep connection but it was not lust-filled. Which was fine by her. She wasn't sure that she could even inspire that type of passion…that type of lust in anyone. Maybe in Everyman when he'd appeared as Barry? But that was weird. And awkward to have been kissed by a person who was not actually that person. Besides, Everyman was a horny jerk, not exactly a quality example.

"No. You're passionate about a lot of things," she replied, thinking of Everyman Barry again. "I only meant that you're not…like Christian Grey or some other nefarious guy who likes to seduce women for sport."

"That dude _is_ pretty creepy," Cisco interrupted. "If he wasn't a billionaire, he'd be on an episode of _Criminal Minds._ "

Ignoring him, she continued, "I mean, I suppose that's exciting and all that, every now and then, of course. But you've got a good heart, Barry. You're not that type of guy."

She paused. "Patty's lucky to be with you." And she meant it. She was happy for Barry. He deserved happiness, especially after having his heart broken by Iris. She couldn't be jealous of that.

His eyes lingered a bit too long, making her feel uncomfortable. But then, maybe he was trying to gauge her drunkenness-it was about at 7/10- because he smiled easily and said, "Did Caitlin ever tell you about her karaoke debut? The night where she sang this terribly off-key rendition of 'Summer Loving'? Or how afterwards she practically stripped for me? But I was _nice_ enough not to 'look at her goods.'"

She laughed heartily along with Cisco as Barry recounted her blunders. It was a memorable night, one that she'd forgotten most of.

Yet why of all the things that she forgot, did she not help but remember the heat of his hand on her thigh? His heated eyes raking her as she entered the dive bar?

FINIS

 **A/N: This is the third story that I've begun about these two and the only one that's published. I have a bad reputation for not completing my stories, so I thought it only fair that the one I do post is one that can actually be completed in 2-3 chapters. Did you enjoy it? Well, review it then. Wink,wink. Tell me why you adore Snowbarry because seriously, I could talk about my adoration for this ship for a long, long time.**

 **Also, to anyone directed here from my** _ **Merlin**_ **stories, let me assure you that I am very much alive. My updates have been nonexistent because..a lot of things happened in the last 18 months. I did finish my Ph.D. (yeah, it's Dr., er, Emma now), moved to North Carolina for a teaching job, moved back from North Carolina for another job and because I found out I was very unexpectedly pregnant, then had a baby boy at the end of May. You know, a pretty tame time.**


	2. Chapter 2

"I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.  
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.  
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day  
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps."

-Pablo Neruda

Chapter 2

It all started innocently enough.

She first noticed it the next morning after her dark sunglasses came off and her Gatorade was finished.

He was staring. Not subtly or in a veiled manner. But obvious, curious, nearly…burning her with its intensity.

Initially, she tried to ignore it. She was a hot mess today; her usually curly locks were thrown haphazardly into a messy bun and she'd worn a loose white shirt and a long gray cardigan with leggings and boots. It was a look better suited to a freshman during Finals week than a top geneticist at a secret lab, but a raging hangover made fashion her last priority.

And she'd wanted to look and be a little less serious today. While she loved the authority and pageantry that her position in Team Flash granted her (something hard-won for a young woman in any STEM field), it was nice to have a casual Friday…on a Tuesday. And her already tumultuous stomach was more than happy to exchange the heels and sheath dresses for some elastic and low-to-the-ground boots.

She felt comfy. Not especially pretty or polished, but it was…relaxing. Until he started staring.

After about an hour of his intermittent staring, she looked up from her computer screen. "What?" she asked with a sharp raise of an eyebrow.

"Nothing. You just look different today," he replied without breaking eye contact. There was nothing accusatory in his tone, but she bristled nonetheless. Alright, so she didn't look like she just came out of a magazine (what woman ever did? Hello, airbrushing) but she didn't look _that_ different…did she?

Going on the defensive, she said haughtily. "Yes, I know. This is my hangover outfit, alright? No need to stare." She tugged on the hem of her shirt and lifted her chin a notch. "You'll have perfectly polished Dr. Snow back tomorrow."

He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no criticism from me. I'm staring because I like it." His eyes scanned down her body, almost in the same lazy, sensual way that he had at the dive bar in February. Her skin prickled as he finished, "You look nice. _Very_ nice."

Disbelieving, she asked quietly, "Do I?"

Alright, so she was happy with her clothing choices, particularly given the situation…but didn't most guys prefer the whole dressed up thing? Wasn't there some secret meeting that guys attended in the 8th grade where they voted yes to the whole myth of let's-pretend-that-we-like-the-natural-look-when-really-it-takes-her-two-hours-and-40-products-to-achieve-this-level-of- "natural"-beauty? Not that she was one to dress for a man, certainly not. She liked the confidence that came along with the clothing and cosmetics of her gender…only she assumed that men, especially Barry, who loved the style maven Iris, preferred more…regular pizzaz.

He continued, "I mean, your other outfits are cute. Great. Very professional and stylish. It's just nice to see you more…"

"Comfortable?" she finished helpfully.

He grinned. "Yeah, comfortable. It makes me feel like we're just hanging out on a Sunday afternoon rather than working to stop the latest metahuman. It's nice. I like it."

She felt herself blush. A Sunday afternoon with Barry felt like it might be terribly…intimate. She usually spent Sunday afternoon grocery shopping and doing laundry like a normal person. Even with Ronnie, things had been rather usual, typical, logical.

But Sundays with Barry sounded sensual. All naked limbs tangled in the streaming morning sun. Breakfast in bed with strawberries and whipped cream for afterwards. Cuddling on the couch while watching old episodes of _The Office_. Then back to bed for more…

And when she did have clothes on…well, sure, it might be this outfit.

She shook her head. This was not a romantic comedy montage. And she _definitely_ should not be thinking about Barry like that…or herself. Her Sunday afternoons were perfectly fine without the ridiculous clichéd romantic assignations, thank you very much.

But he meant it kindly, she knew. And she was flattered. Even if it sent her mind into a talespin.

"Umm, you look nice too," she replied with a sheepish grin, trying to hide her previously lecherous thoughts from his gaze.

And he then smiled, that megawatt, million-dollar, toothy smile. The one that started a tiny million particles of electricity shooting from her stomach through every atom of her body.

* * *

It should've been a sign that she was in _way_ over her head.

The following Thursday night she was at home when her phone pinged. It was 9:30. They'd just spent the last few days hunting a particularly nasty metahuman. She'd left early to catch up on some work at home.

She squelched the tiny flutter in her chest when she saw his name flash on the notification. The little gray bubble popped up.

Barry: Hey

Not wanting to seem too eager, she took a moment before replying with a casual response.

Caitlin: Hey

The tiny white bubble showed he was typing.

Barry: What are you doing?

She clicked a quick picture, showing her steaming mug of tea balanced on a stack of journal articles on her lap.

Caitlin: [picture included] Work.

Barry: Those pjs look familiar ;)

Oh, right, a small corner of her pajama pants were visible in the photo. Choosing to ignore his allusion to their long ago night, she responded with a similar inquiry.

Caitlin: What are you doing tonight?

It took a moment for him to respond. Taking a sip of her tea, she waited for him to respond with some quick note about Patty or pizza or some other decidedly Barry-like activity in which he was engaged.

However, his response was none of the usual things. No Joe. No Jittters. No Iris or Cisco. It wasn't technically a response at all.

Instead what he sent back as reply made her snort tea through her nose.

Because there in graphic, full-color detail was a picture of a shirtless, smiling, and winking Barry Allen holding a Star Labs mug up. Oh. My. God.

Inner hormone-ridden fourteen year old Caitlin (who still made random appearances) was screaming out her appreciation. Unsolicited images of Barry in her phone, which were so easy to save and view later in her weaker moments? This was her fantasy.

However, 27 year old Caitlin was fuming with…indignation. Photos of a sexy Barry Allen sent to her phone? This was a nightmare.

The phone trembled in her hands. It was bad..terrible..awful enough that he strutted around like some exhibitionist in the lab. It was distracting, of course, terribly unsettling for her lust-fueled brain to process. Felicity had once complained (pre-Olicity, of course) that Oliver had this horrible habit of walking around nearly nude. Towels, tight green pants, any potentially insanity and lust-producing garment was always his preference. He might've given some answer full of male bravado that alluded to his time on the island.

BUT for Barry to send her this ridiculously HOT image that was borderline pornographic, if you know, the parameters of pornography were broadened to include things like _Teen Bop_ or posters from her middle-school bedroom… STILL….this was crossing some kind of line.

This… was too much. Not when she was at home. Not on her phone. Not with a damn photo that was so damn sexy that she felt it might burn into her brain forever.

Frustratedly, she slammed her thumbs against the screen and typed.

Caitlin: Were you robbed?

Barry: No…Why?

Caitlin: Because you appear to have lost your shirt.

Barry: LOL, clever deduction, Sherlock.

Caitlin: This is NOT funny.

Barry: I didn't realize you were so squeamish. It's hardly a new sight for you, DR. SNOW

Caitlin: That's different. This isn't the medical bay, MR. ALLEN.

After a moment of contemplation, she replied with a more serious concern.

Caitlin: What would Patty think? I doubt she wants her boyfriend sexting other women.

Barry: Patty and I broke up.

Well, that was unexpected. A feeling coursed through her body; it felt like exhalation. But, no, she needed to be the sympathetic friend, like always.

Caitlin: Oh, Barry, I'm sorry.

Barry: It's fine. We were just in different places. It was amicable. She's a lovely person. We're going to stay friends.

Caitlin: That's good, at least. She really is lovely. I'm sorry it didn't work.

Barry: Thanks.

She tried to compose another text, but everything seemed really trite and silly. For once, she didn't know what to say. Without tone, she didn't know how to read him. After a few attempts, she gave up and went back to work. Barry was silent after his words of gratitude.

An hour later, she was brushing her teeth when her phone vibrated.

Barry: Caitlin? You still up?

Caitlin: Yes.

Barry: When I do sext you…well, you'll know it. Goodnight!

Toothpaste ran down the side of her mouth. Not "If I decide" but "When I do."

She couldn't even type a perfunctory goodnight in response.

End of Chapter

 **Thanks for all the lovely reviews. I usually try to respond (mostly because I love to talk Snowbarry with other fans), but I've been grading essays and final exams. Yuck. Only a few more to go before grades are due…then I'm free to eat Christmas cookies and write fanfiction while pretending to do other important academic work.**

 **Please review! I couldn't decide what type of tea Caitlin would drink, so I left that detail out. Any ideas? I usually give characters, particularly ones that are similar to me (points to Caitlin then taps nose), tastes that are close to my own. As a raging Anglophile, I drink Yorkshire tea or Forstum and Mason's Queen Anne tea if I'm feeling fancy. But I also like Good Earth Sweet and Spicy (delicious, try it if you haven't already. It's a cinnamon lover's dream!).**

 **Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas! Happy belated Channukah!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Couple things: First, I totally came up with the New Year's Eve things before the most recent preview came out. After seeing it, the preview kind of got in my head space and took over some of my mapping for this chapter. Initially, I tried quite hard to make this story exist in the margins of S2. Really, I did, or at least I wanted it to. And then I broke up Patty and Barry last chapter. Let's call it a premonition from a diehard Snowbarry shipper, but that little detail does leave me in a bit of jam. So from here on out I'm trying to not digress** ** _too much_** **from the show's storyline. I don't want full-out canon divergence here. We'll just call this canon manipulation instead. More ranting about the show/love interests at the end.**

 _To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love._

 _-Jane Austen_ , Pride and Prejudice

Chapter 3

Over the next few days, she convinced herself that it was just all just a joke, that the ever-funny Barry was merely teasing her.

Barry Allen sext her? Intentionally? Puh-lease.

It helped that things were perfectly normal. Sure, Barry still stared at her a bit longer than usual. And maybe he'd brought her alone coffee one morning. But that was just Barry. Kind, sweet, thoughtful Barry. Reading into the situation any further-even thinking that he might be _flirting_ with her-seemed to somehow sully what they had. She already toed the line so many times with her own fantasies and salacious thoughts; she didn't dare attribute any impropriety on Barry's part.

She also found that focusing her energy on something else…or rather, someone else helped.

Jay Garrick was a good guy: uncomplicated, handsome, charming. Their near kiss in the van outside the _Picture News_ was unexpected; kissing her under the mistletoe was almost predictable.

And it was nice. He was nice. But it was almost perfunctory, mechanical even. Like they'd somehow stumbled onto the set of an ABC Family Christmas Special. Mistletoe? Check. Attractive man? Check all the boxes (she had eyes, didn't she?). Opportune kiss? Check.

But for a man who also had a speed force, albeit a dormant one, within him, her kiss with Jay lacked…a spark.

And heat. It definitely lacked heat. Not that under the mistletoe in the middle of Joe's living room was the time nor the place for an impromptu snog session.

Still… Jay's kiss left her unchanged from a scientific perspective. Her pulse didn't even flutter, nor did her breathing increase, and she doubted that her pupils had dilated. While she'd smiled shyly afterwards, she'd been disappointed. It wasn't that she didn't want to kiss him; she had. However, she'd wanted to be affected. She wanted raging passion and tingles and breathless gasps while staring into his eyes. It was bereft. Lacking.

But she'd keep trying. Which was exactly why she'd brought Jay here tonight as her date.

Every New Year's Eve the CCPD threw an Officer's Ball. Barry and Joe had wrangled a few extra tickets, enough to include all of Team Flash. Harry had declined (as expected), so Jay was free to take his ticket.

And she was having a lovely time. The DJ played a good number of songs, waiters with trays of champagne circled the room, and she was seated next to an exceedingly handsome man.

Jay raised the flute to his lips and took a long swallow. "What's the name of this beverage?"

"Champagne. It's actually from a very specific region of France…"

Jay smiled as he interrupted, "I'm only kidding. We have champagne on Earth 2. It's almost too easy to tease you."

She laughed at herself. "Well, excuse me, but I don't meet people from alternative universes that frequently. My schedule's pretty full."

"I can imagine. Barry must be a very…active patient," Jay said, nodding in the direction of Barry. He was on the dance floor with a laughing Patty, spinning and twirling her around in tune with The Wanted's "Glad You Came." Cisco was beside them, looking rather uncoordinated and adorably awkward as he shuffled from side to side with his forearms up.

It shouldn't surprise her that Barry could dance. He was incredibly lithe and agile, that only enhanced his speed. But he as he did a quick spin down to his knees then back up, it was obvious that he had some pretty smooth moves.

"You have no idea. Although color me impressed, I've never seen him dance," she replied, draining her own champagne and setting it on the table behind them.

"Yes, he's very talented. It's like he's stepped right out of a musical," Jay responded.

"Well, he can sing too," Caitlin said, a smile tugging her lips.

"Really?" Jay asked. "I'm beginning to think that the Earth 1's speed force might've chosen a better host. Does he cook too? Knit? Paint? Write poetry?"

She giggled. "None of those things, I'm afraid. Although it would be nice if all his rivals wanted was to engage him in a singing dance battle. Then I might be out of a job."

Jay laughed heartily at that, flashing his white teeth. "I doubt that. Barry needs you."

 _And I need him._

Shaking her head, she countered, "True. I hear those can get quite out of hand."

In silence they watched their friends dance. At the final chorus, Jay stood and asked, "I presume you also have whiskey on Earth 1? Much more of this fizz and I'll have a headache."

She nodded and pointed in the direction of the bar, declining his offer for another drink. She actually loved champagne and managed to snag another glass from a passing server before Jay left.

The soft beat of a slow song came over the speakers. After a few notes, she identified it as the opening to Ron Pope's "Drop in the Ocean." She _loved_ this song. Couples began to pair off. From the corner of her eye, she saw Joe make his way to the floor, leading Iris for a lovely father-daughter dance.

Looking wistfully over towards the long line at the bar, she was curious when Jay would return. Maybe then they could dance then. Not that she was much of a dancer, mind you, but sitting on the side alone like a wallflower reminded her far too much of senior prom.

So consumed with assessing Jay's likelihood of returning before the end of the song, she didn't hear him approach.

"Care to dance, Dr. Snow?" Barry cajoled, hand extended in invitation.

Caught off guard and suddenly a bit uncomfortable with his direct attention (he'd been dancing or chatting with other CCPD members for most of the night), she hastily inquired, "What about Patty?"

And Jay. Obviously. Wasn't he hoping to dance with her? How soon would he return? Should he have come back when he heard the slow song?

His brow creased. "She's dancing with Cisco. We merely came as friends."

While she knew it was none of her business, she had been…surprised (that sounded far better than jealous) to see Barry and Patty stroll in together. With all the dancing and their constant companionship, she merely assumed they were back together.

"I….ummm…sure," she said awkwardly, trying to cover up her earlier discomfort.

She stood and quickly brushed out the wrinkles in her skirt before following him to the dance floor. Although they didn't touch or hold hands, she seemed to sense exactly where he was leading them. It was almost as if her body was attuned to his. Tethered.

He stopped in the center of the dance floor and turned to face her. With her gold heels reaching nearly four inches, she was closer to his height than ever. They were right at eye level. His green eyes were intense. She couldn't look away.

Wrapping both hands around her waist, he pulled her close enough to make her eyes widen and a soft "whoa" to escape her lips. Although she'd touched Barry many times, she had rarely (aside from Everyman, eww) ever been pressed up against him.

God, did he have to be so…hard all over? Sure, the lightening had given him abs and other muscle groups but did they have to feel _so good_ stacked up right against her body? He was all lean lines and sharp angles. And she was helpless to resist the effects.

Had she wanted heat? Because she was practically on fire. Blood thrummed through her veins, making her skin feel tight and hot.

"Of course," she replied breathlessly as she managed to make her wooden arms grab his shoulders.

The floor was crowded. The backs of the other couples gave them a small sense of privacy. It was intimate. Too intimate.

"You're quite the dancer," she started, wanting to break the sensual tension that festered in the silence.

"And you're not," he stated, correcting her overeager (and nervous) rhythm by settling his hands more firmly on her pelvis. She drew in another sharp breath as she was blasted with the heat of his hand. Was she…panting? Oh God. _Keep it together, Caitlin_.

"Careful, or else I might step on your toes," she tried to reply with mock indignation. Alright, so she lacked grace. It's not like dancing was a skill that everyone had.

He smirked in reply. "You know, I think I'm quick enough to avoid it."

She looked away from his eyes under the guise of assessing the other couples. Really, she wondered if she could escape without sacrificing her dignity.

"You look beautiful tonight. That color suits you," he said, drawing her back in.

Strangely enough, she didn't have much cause to wear formal dresses. This simple dark maroon dress with its deep V, fitted waist, and floor-length skirt had seemed appropriate and practical. She did feel especially pretty in it, not that she needed or wanted Barry to tell her that. No, no indeed.

However, the color reminded her of Barry suit. Strange how that worked out.

"Thank you," she replied, glancing up to meet his gaze again.

His eyes were serious. Staring. Making her uncomfortable with their burning intensity. It was too much. She wasn't ready, wasn't prepared for this type of scrutiny from him. Even if it did make her feel…special.

She…they were on shaky ground. And she was slipping. The balance in their relationship was shifting. She needed to get back on point.

With what she hoped was a casual turn of her head, she observed, "You know, you've been complimenting me a lot lately. I'm developing quite an ego."

He paused before answering, seeming to sense exactly what she was doing. "I'm only being honest."

"Yes, well, I'm one lab accident away from becoming your super-nemesis," she joked.

"Being smart and beautiful is already quite the deadly combination. You've found my weakness," he responded seriously.

Weakness indeed. She was the weak one. Pulled in by his charming smile and heroic gestures. But this couldn't last…that is, she didn't want…didn't need complications in her life now. Not with Barry. This tension between them was temporary. Hormonal. It wasn't real. And she wouldn't reciprocate. Down that road lay madness. And her always logical brain was teetering too close to that edge already.

Suddenly, he removed his right hand from her waist and slid it up her wrist. Stopping at her hand he unclasped her hand from his neck and gently laced their fingers together.

She sucked in a sharp breath. Not because it was new. But because it was familiar. Her body was far too familiar with how neatly and tenderly his fingers could link with hers.

Back when he was in a coma, she'd always taken his right. Whenever Iris would visit, she would take his left. The right, that had always felt like it was hers. Secretly. In the dark hours of the night.

It had started one night a few months into his coma. Initially, she told herself it was merely part of his recovery process. Several medical journals had posited that touch was an important factor in helping coma patients wake up. Iris, Joe, even Felicity always touched a shoulder, grabbed his hand. It was only for the duration of their visit, but she always encouraged Barry's visitors to do whatever felt natural.

And she touched him too, of course: checked his pulse, removed sensors, and tested his muscle reactions. It was part of her job, one that she took very seriously.

She, Cisco, Dr. Wells, and (occasionally Joe) rotated overnight shifts in case Barry woke up during the night. They'd set up a bedroom in the Cortex, making it a pretty comfortable space for someone to stay. In the beginning, she practically lived there, volunteering to stay for weeks at a time. Better to sleep in the lab next to a coma patient than to return to a too quiet apartment haunted by memories of her dead fiancée. Eventually, she'd let others take over, although she still had stayed over the most.

Typically, after she'd brushed her teeth and put on her pajamas, she did one final check of Barry's vitals. There was an alarm attached to his sensors that would sound an alarm if there were any sudden changes, but she always did one quick check before going to bed. It was part of her routine, and it calmed her when nothing else—no one else-would.

This night was different though. It was late May, and after she had finished a quick check on his pulse, she settled his hand back down beside him. Although his hand was motionless, the fingers were splayed apart as if they were truly resting. She had often seen it look like that. It was a typical muscle reaction to coma, loosening muscles and seemingly lifeless extremities.

But he wasn't lifeless. He was breathing. Fighting. Living, albeit in a lesser capacity than normal, here in front of her. It was practically more than she was doing since Ronnie's death in December.

In a rash and unguarded moment, she had gently linked their hands together; his right with her left, overlapping until the tips of their fingers touched the other's knuckles. She couldn't explain what made her do it then; she certainly didn't know why now. Only…it seemed like she could absorb some of Barry's fight…some of his ability to live, to breathe through their joined hands.

And it had felt nice. People rarely touched her any more. It was almost as if her grief put her inside a big bubble, frightening off anyone who might dare get near. But Barry couldn't be afraid.

She had held his hand for hours that night, comforted by the gentle connection between their hands.

The next morning she had felt a bit guilty. She didn't know Barry. They weren't friends. She wasn't Iris or Joe or Felicity. She shouldn't…be taking advantage of an unconscious man. It felt somehow sinister. Almost like she had been using Barry for her own…something.

That didn't stop her from doing it again. And again, until it became a regular part of her overnight routine. Although she had often told herself that it was helping him, she knew that it wasn't completely selfless.

The night before he woke up, she felt a twitch in his hand. A slight squeeze. She had gasped and pulled away, surprised and disconcerted by how one man's touch could send such a flurry of emotions through her. She still didn't know Barry, despite their hand-holding session. On a basic level, he was just a body on the table. A patient to be cared for, a way to right the errors that she and the rest of the people at STAR labs had created.

But when he had squeezed her hand, she felt a barrier breakdown. And it had felt…nice. It was as if she was finally released from her own coma. She'd been a zombie since Ronnie's death. Going through the motions, dressing the part, being in attendance, caring for Barry, conversing with Dr. Wells and Cisco.

But inside she felt dead. A robot executing commands, doing what was expected, never truly being alive. Yet one clutch of Barry's fingers and she had finally, finally, finally awakened.

After several hours of checking him over, she'd convinced herself that it was a tremor. Not uncommon for any coma patient. It wasn't a special; she hadn't provoked anything from this beautiful and tragic man lying on her table.

Then he'd woken up. And she was suddenly more alive than she'd been before.

And right now she felt like a tinder box ready to explode. Because he was looking at her, touching her, invading her in a way that she so desperately wanted. Her stomach dropped. His smile would distract her, his eyes would unmask her, and his fingers would undo. She was close to doing something stupid. Like run her hands through his hair or caress his neck. They were too close. He was invading her. Occupying her space and her mind and her thoughts and her fantasies and her present. It was taking all her energy to appear normal, to appear unaffected.

But she wasn't, unaffected that is, she was burning, searing, aching with all the pent-up emotions from this last year and half. She couldn't show it. She wouldn't show it.

This was Barry, after all. And she was Caitlin. Anything, anything beyond friendship was forbidden. What would it do to them? To Team Flash? She couldn't take that risk. She needed Barry. He, his work, his job and her role within it had healed her the last two times she'd been broken. She couldn't risk that safety, that purpose for an uncertain and illogical liaison. And that's what this would be: a liaison. A flirtation run amok. Sexual chemistry that would fizzle out just as quickly as it started, leaving two people with an awkward and uncertain future. No, she wouldn't give in. Not for a few minutes of heated pleasure or fantasy fulfillment.

She needed stability. And Barry was anything but stable. He was bottled lightening when she needed a slow, steady rain.

Besides, Barry was just confused. He wasn't certain of himself. She didn't want to be a rebound or a distraction. That wasn't her role. She was better than that. And she wasn't going to fall prey to a few kindly uttered compliments on a dance floor by a charming man high on New Year's Eve joy. Flirtation wasn't love. Dancing wasn't a relationship. She wouldn't give in.

Even if every cell in her body was screaming for him, demanding him in the most elemental way. But she'd curb it. She had done it many times before. Mind over matter. Brain over body.

"Patty looks nice too," she murmured.

He looked over to where Patty was dancing with Cisco. "Yes, yes, she does."

With a sign of relief, she noticed that the song was coming to an end. The final chorus was ringing out and she thought she might make a clear escape.

"Wanna know a secret?" he whispered.

"I already know most of yours," she murmured casually.

He met her eyes. And she knew, she _knew_ what he was going to say just as if she'd read his mind. "You're the most beautiful woman in the room. You're the most beautiful woman in most rooms."

She turned away, trying to locate Jay amongst the crowd of people along the parameters of the dance floor. "That's because I'm often the only one in there."

Her hands fell from his shoulder and she backed her body away, preparing to thank him for the dance and run back to her date. She should dance with Jay. Right. That sounded good. _I'm sure his touch will have the same, nay, a more distinctive effect on me._

She looked down to her hip, a gentle reminder that he was supposed to remove his hand from her hip and release her hand.

Instead he chuckled softly and quickly pulled her in again. His hot, damp breath puffed against her ear, making goosebumps shoot from her neck to her stomach. "Wanna know one final secret, Dr. Snow?" he practically purred.

He didn't wait for her answer, instead enunciating every word so that there could be no mistakes or unclear messages. "You're the only one I ever see."

There was no teasing. No softness. His voice was full of barely muted frustration As if he was tired of her dismissals, tired of her purposefully misunderstanding him. It was desperate. Needy. Passionate.

And she gasped. She couldn't help it. All the pent-up emotions, all the uncertainties, all his frustrations. It was there. In every clear syllable of his sentence.

"Thanks for the dance, Caitlin." And he smiled as he pulled away and left her body stuck in a partner-less dance position as if she'd been frozen by Captain Cold's gun.

 **End of Chapter**

 **Whoa, that got angsty real quick. Thanks for reading! Please review! Merry Christmas! The next section is the haranguing words of a fanfiction madwoman. Read cautiously.**

 **Alright, so coffee talk. Let me first say that** ** _The Flash_** **writers have done what** ** _Arrow_** **writers failed to do for most the series: they've made likeable love interests. Now that might ignite your shipper heart to say, "Uh, but I don't like Caitlin/Barry with man x or woman b." True story, me too. No one likes someone who gets in the middle of their OTP. But let's talk Jay Garrick and Patty Spivak because Ronnie's dead (for all intents and purposes right now, which I hate the potential limbo here), and Candice and Grant have absolutely NO chemistry, which is tragic because Iris could've been so much better written. That's another rant and another battle in the shipper wars. Anyways, back to Patty. You know, I like her. I meant what Caitlin said in the last chapter: she really is lovely. And while I'm happy to see him NOT pining over an oblivious and deeply-in-love-with-someone-else Iris (although has she even mentioned Eddie this entire season? Weird), I don't think any real relationship can be built on such an unsteady foundation. Patty knows none of his secrets and Barry knows very little of hers. Even that last episode where he had 2 PERFECT opportunities to share (really, it's getting a bit ridiculous that she doesn't know. Furthermore, if I've kissed someone's mouth, I'm gonna recognize it, even framed in a mask), he didn't. That speaks volumes about their relationship. As for Jay, again, lovely and charming guy. A real treat for the eyes (I do have a thing for unique noses). But, come on, I've had more passionate kisses with my grandmother than that smooch he gave Caitlin under the mistletoe. Besides, Caitlin, who loved Ronnie and we all know loves Barry, likes a hero. And Jay was maybe, possibly, potentially one before? (does anyone secretly ship Jay and Jessie Quick? Because I'm getting weird vibes between them). It's just not her thing. I can see the annoyed and disappointed look on her face every time that Jay runs from danger. Barry might be too reckless, but damn if he isn't brave. And Caitlin's brave too. I don't think she could truly care about someone who also wasn't willing to stand up to injustice, evil, or big gorillas. Which brings us back to the main point: why, if Caitlin and Barry are so perfect for each other, are the writers NOT putting them in scenes together? This is my biggest annoyance right now. I mean, I know they're likely trying to cool our ardor, but seriously, like this ship is going down. Did you see that scene where Caitlin is LITERALLY touching Barry's fucking heart and saying "Stay with ME, Barry"? Pffffff, yeah, this ship is hyper-buoyant. Ok, rant over. Feel free to share your thoughts (or concerns for my mental health) in the review box.**


	4. Chapter 4

_What could he mean by speaking so, as if I were always thinking that he cared for me, when I know he does not; he cannot...But I won't care for him. I surely am mistress enough of myself to control this wild, miserable feeling._

 _-Elizabeth Gaskell,_ North and South

Chapter 4

They didn't hug at STAR Labs.

Not before Barry, at least, each trying (or so she thought with Dr. Wells) to knit their broken pieces back together alone. She more than the others. But Barry's affection was infectious. She found herself reaching for him, reaching for others more since he'd woken up. A shoulder grab here, a handshake there, hugs all around. It was surprising for someone so guarded and strict with her bodily boundaries to engage in any type of physical contact.

But with Barry, well, it was easy. He was safe. He was warm. His presence, the easy touches between them were comfort in a cold, dangerous world. And it felt so natural, probably because she was already accustomed to his touch.

Ever since New Year's Eve, those touches had changed. It wasn't casual or natural at all.

Sure, he still hugged her after a particularly bad day or grabbed her hand to lead her somewhere new; those touches—brief comfort and direction ones-weren't unusual.

It was the other ones. The new ones. The _lingering_ ones that were undoing her.

A hand on her lower back. A quick sweep of her cheek by his fingertips. And always, always too close. His stubble brushing against her face as he leaned in to read the screen over her shoulder, his arms linking at her arm pits to pull her in, gentle tugs on the ends of her hair.

How was it that in all these months she had never noticed exactly how… _delicious_ he smelled? How did she miss the spicy and earthy scent that lingered on his skin after he changed into his usual button down and sweater? What about the cinnamon that wafted from his breath? Seriously, she needed to schedule an appointment with an otorhinolaryngologist, because suddenly noticing such delectable scents as those that exuded from Barry had to be a sign of a brain tumor.

Not a mounting, desperate attraction that was infusing her brain. No, no indeed. A brain tumor was more likely. Although, why was it that she only noticed Barry's scents and no other smells?

Shortly after New Year's, Jay had left once again for Earth 2. Rumors of Zoom appearing in Central City had started to surface and he hadn't wanted to face or view another encounter. Before he'd left, Jay had asked her to go with him, to accompany him back to Earth 2.

 _They were in the hallway outside the Cortex._

 _"_ _Zoom's dangerous, Caitlin. And Barry's not strong enough to take him on," Jay argued._

 _"_ _Which is exactly why I'm working on a serum to make Barry faster," she countered. "Stay, Jay, stay and help us mount a proper defense. Surely you know that there's no place where Zoom won't find you. Stay, stay and help us."_

 _His face looked contemplative before a mask of finality came over his features. "I can't."_

 _"_ _You mean you won't." She crossed her arms over her chest._

 _"_ _Yes, I won't stand by and watch Zoom destroy you and your team. Come with me, Caitlin, we'll be safe together on Earth 2," he entreated._

 _Echoing his previous words, she shook her head and said "I won't."_

Looking back on their brief…attachment (relationship seemed too serious a word), she began to realize what had appealed to her about Jay. Sure, he was quite a feast for the eyes. And he had a certain charisma about him. And maybe some mystery being from an alternative universe. But it was something else about him that had drawn her to him: he was safe.

After Ronnie's heroic actions with both the particle accelerator and the singularity, she thought that she craved safety. Losing Ronnie twice, again before the ink on their marriage certificate had even dried, had gouged out the last fragile bits of her security.

And Jay had provided safety, security. He was a superhero without powers. A man without a means to get home. Although he wasn't broken in either spirit or body, he did need her…Team Flash. He was wounded, and a wounded man called to her.

She liked to be needed. She had wanted someone to care for, someone to help heal. It was strange to think about how healing someone, even in this limited capacity, might help to heal her. But it had worked before with Barry. Seeing him, caring for him, working with him to accomplish the impossible, it had strengthened her.

But Jay was too safe, too cautious. She wouldn't call it cowardice, per se. It was worse than cowardice; it was a lack of hope. He had no faith in Team Flash, in her. It was jarring to realize what a mistake she'd made in seeking him out, in thinking that she could get some moniker of what she needed from him. She had never wanted another martyr; she'd wanted a man. But that didn't mean he couldn't also be a hero too.

A hero with a sense of self-preservation. Someone who wouldn't abandon her alone with a few parting words of love. She loved Ronnie, she always would. Maybe it was selfish and in opposite Ronnie's selflessness, but she still wished he cared a little bit more about them. At least enough to save himself for her.

It was a Wednesday night in late January. Barry was sitting with his legs hanging over the side of the gurney. He was unmasked and his suit was pushed to his waist, leaving an excessive expanse of his chest exposed. A wide and nasty gash that ran from the side of his neck down his chest, nearly reaching his naval.

She had seen his chest before. And touched it too. Obviously. But it felt different this time. She was more aware of where her hands were, more sensitive to the smooth texture of his skin against hers. As per her instructions, he leaned back, pressing the heels of his hands against the thin mattress. Her face was lowered and hovering right near his left hip as she worked.

He was taut, drawn as tight as Oliver Queen's bow. Surely he was anxious as she worked to close the very end of the gash. God, if she looked she could see the very end of the small trail of hair that ran down…

"Ouch," he breathed as her carless and distracted fingers had pushed the needle in deep. "I may heal fast but I still feel pain." She noticed that his voice seemed rather thick. Was something else wrong? His voice hadn't seemed so…gravelly earlier, had it? Maybe he'd swallowed some dust during his speedy return to the Lab.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"You're lucky, you know," she mused, trying to best keep her own attention and NOT focus on Barry's unnerving body as she worked. "Any deeper and he would've nicked your artery. You still would've healed, but you likely would've passed out from the blood loss."

He shrugged, as if it was nothing.

"How did it happen?" she asked, tying a small knot at the end of the gash.

"He brought a knife to a gun fight," he said.

Her brow furrowed as she leaned yo to a sitting position. "But you don't carry a gun. At either of your jobs."

In a casual voice, he recounted the incident. "He brought both. I thought I had disarmed him. He cut me as I was focused on the gun."

She shook her head at his matter-of-fact retelling. "Cut indeed. He nearly cleaved your heart out. I saw bone before your regenerative capabilities fixed it."

"It was nothing. A flesh wound," he said, assessing her handiwork.

She rolled her eyes as she reached for the disinfectant.

"You're pursing your lips," he observed as she pressed the cotton swab against his wound.

"I do that when I'm dealing with reckless superheroes who stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the extent of their injuries," she replied.

A moment passed before he responded, "You do the same thing when you're reading."

"What?" she asked, confused by his reply.

"Purse your lips. And you also get these little crinkles between your brows," he discerned. "Right there." His hand raised and his thumb traced the indentations that decorated her brow. The caress was soft, slow, intoxicating in its gentleness. She was overwhelmed, her sense flooded. Barry's eyes trapped hers, forcing her to stare back and wallow in his green depths. Tension crackled between them as his digit passed over and over the space of her brow.

"Hey, you guys, in here?" called a voice from the hallway. She pulled away from Barry's fingers. A moment later Cisco appeared at the entrance to the Cortex.

"Yeah, just finishing up," Caitlin replied quickly. Nothing had happened.

"You need any help? Because I'm trying to make the 10:45 showing of _Star Wars_ ," Cisco asked, obvious to the scene he just interrupted.

"Haven't you seen that, like, 20 times?" Barry responded, speaking for the first time in a few moments. He sounded collected, which was the exact opposite of what she felt.

"No, that would be 17," Cisco replied with annoyed patience.

"17?" she queried. That was quite a lot.

Cisco sighed resignedly. "Look, I don't have the time or the desire to expound on the many virtues of this most recent addition to the _Star Wars_ franchise. Especially to bunch of plebes. Suffice to say, it's damn good. Daisy Ridley's a badass hottie, and I only wish that Professor Zoom had half of Kylo Ren's swagger. Now if there's nothing else, I'm off for viewing number 18."

"Get out of here, nerd," Barry responded. She chuckled.

Gasping in mock offense, Cisco snapped, "Heresy, young speedster." He brought two fingers to his lips before firing back, "And what incredibly glamorous and non-geeky field did you two study? Oh, right, science. You better watch it or this engineer's gonna build his own death star."

With his arms widespread , he smugly and slowly stared them down as he backed up to the entrance. "Engineering, FTW!" he shouted then walked out.

She chuckled again. Cisco always did know how to make an exit.

However, Cisco's absence left them alone again. And she was anxious to finish dressing his wound and leave. Something was boiling here, rolling through and over them. It excited and terrified her at the same time.

"Raise your arm," she commanded a bit brusquely. Professional. Cool. Detached. They were friends, of course, but something happened when she touched his body earlier. It was an unwelcome thrill. She didn't want it. Not now, not with Barry.

He must've picked up on her tone because he teased, "Yes, Dr. Snow."

The awkward placement of his wound required that she loop gauze around his upraised arm and then over his opposite shoulder like a sash. The initial circle around his left side was easy. However, she had to lean closer to get the other sash of gauze across the lower part of his wound.

It kept twisting in her numb and slick fingers. After a second unsuccessful attempt, she pulled the gauze taut as her palm smoothed diagolonally.

He let out a soft moan. The sound was small, almost closer to a gentle sigh. But there was an undercurrent of pleasure in it. One that had her body shuddering in response.

"That feels nice," he nearly whispered, her position putting her ear within a few inches of his mouth.

She cleared her throat once, twice, continuing her work. "I'd imagine anything would after a knife wound."

As she tapped the last bit in place, he replied, "That's not what I meant."

She straightened up. A mistake. Because that seemed to give him permission to gently take her shoulders in his large hands. His face was _so_ close. She felt his breath on her face. Her lips parted. His head moved. Her eyes widened.

It was familiar. Too familiar. She had once been in the same position before.

She jerked back.

"What was the first thing I asked you after you woke up?" she asked, breathlessly

If she wasn't so aroused and confused, she would've found his face terribly comical. "What?"

"Just answer the question," she demanded, stepping further away and letting his limp fingers slide against her upper arms.

He looked up for a moment. "You asked me to pee in a cup."

"That's right," she responded, relieved And terrified. Because this wasn't another metahuman with cloning properties. This was Barry Allen. And he had nearly kissed her. Oh God. She had wanted him to. Oh God. This was not good. She couldn't kiss Barry Allen…or rather, kiss the real Barry Allen.

"I have to go," she announced, hurriedly turning towards the main center.

"Cait?" Barry asked, shock etched on his face.

She ignored the question in his voice. Her coat was on the rack by the entrance. She grabbed it quickly and doled out a few instructions, "You should heal up pretty soon. Don't get the bandage wet until it's completely closed."

"Cait? Caitlin?" he asked again, this time more forcefully while he tried to pull his suit up from his waist. He winced and sat down as it disturbed his wound.

At any other time, she would've felt sympathy. Right now, however, she was like a prisoner left near an open door; she needed to get the hell out of here. And it was hard to outrun the Flash, she needed any advantage she could get.

"I've gotta go. See you tomorrow," she waved, too cheerfully.

Then she practically ran to her car.

 **End of Chapter**

 **Thanks for the kind reviews! I loved reading all of your responses to my soapbox rant. Since we all seem to agree that SnowBarry is the best ship, I'm going to argue that we're all geniuses. Hope you had a lovely holiday.**


	5. Chapter 5

_If you ever looked at me once with what I know is in you, I would be your slave._

 _-Emily Brontë,_ Wuthering Heights

Chapter 5

There are some things you can't outrun.

The car was a five feet away. She fumbled with her keys, finally managing despite her shaking fingers to press the unlock button. Her hand was on the handle, just about to exert the needed force to wretch the thing open and crawl inside to escape. So close. So very close.

But then she felt it. The telltale whoosh of air that signaled his arrival. He had caught her. Brown eyes closed in silent frustration and hopeless determination. So close.

The parking structure was deserted. After the downfall of STAR Labs, there were no more employees to park inside. It was a little joke she had with herself, how every day she always got the best parking spot. Although the emptiness should've been intimidating, particularly during evenings when she left by herself, it wasn't. It was how she felt in college after staying at the library until all the other students left. She found the quiet comforting, not eerie. And certainly not dangerous.

Until now.

She turned around to face him, right hand still curled around the black metal handle. It was her lifeline, her tether. Almost a talisman. As long as she was holding on to it, nothing could happen. She was grounded, rooted, shackled even to this very real object in her hand.

"Yes?" she asked as a conversation starter. She had aimed for annoyed politeness. It came out panting anticipation. Because the moment she met his too green eyes, she knew her diversion tactics weren't going to work. This was one battle he wasn't going to let her win.

Barry's eyes were usually gentle. Even in their intensity and focus, there was always an undercurrent of kindness, softness. But he wasn't looking at her with any of those things right now.

Right now his green eyes sparked with almost feral. Hungry. Predatory. Her hand tightened on the handle in response. It wasn't fear that made her knees quiver, however. It was want, sharp shards of desire daring her to do…something, anything.

They stared at each other for the space of a minute, the silence broken only by their rapid breathes. It was obvious that he had changed hastily: one side of his button-down was untucked, his right Chuck was untied, and his hair was sticking out at odd angles like he'd pulled everything over his head too quickly. It all served to make him look disheveled. And downright delectable. If he liked her comfortable, she liked him rumpled.

Something had to happen. It must. He was here for a reason, right? A purpose? Oh God, she didn't want him to stay. But she was desperate for him not to go. They were balanced on a knife's edge. She felt spellbound in this silence.

And just like that, the spell was broken. Smashed like glass with the sound of one word.

"Cait," he breathed.

Her nickname, the name which bespoke of only the deepest intimacy. And he always said it differently than anyone else. Unusually he said it fast and quick, not surprisingly. _Cait_. One syllable. Simple. To the point. Why waste time with her full name when her nickname would do?

But the way he said it now was unique, new to her. His tongue caressed the short syllable, lengthening it out until it almost sounded like two. _Ca-ait_. It was music. It was poetry. He spoke it like a secret password uttered by a dying man at the entrance to salvation. And he made it seem like the name was hers and hers alone. No one—not Ronnie or Jay or any other man— had ever made the name seem like it belonged to her. But he did.

And she broke. Heeled feet took one step forward, fingertips sliding against the door in one final gesture of resistance. It was futile, however, because she was drawn to this man like a magnet to its pole. She was helpless, powerless to resist the pull.

It was a collision of sorts. She wasn't sure if it was the force of his body that had pushed her against the car or that of her own greedy arms pulling him back. He might've used his speed to bridge the distance between them. She was in no state to question or puzzle it out.

There was a pause. Brief and charged, she looked at him and he looked at her. In those few seconds, they were waiting. Waiting for a reaction, waiting for a rejection, waiting for everything. It was like that final moment before you jump off the high dive. The quick breath before you take the plunge.

There could be little doubt that she was the one who kissed him. She wanted him. So she fused their lips together.

In the back of her mind, she knew this was utterly and completely reckless. They worked together. They were good friends. He had been in love with one woman and had just broken up with another woman. Furthermore, it was downright illogical. Geneticists didn't kiss superheroes. It was as simple as that.

But God, when she muffled that part of her brain, magical things happened.

The first touch of their lips was shocking. She gasped. He moaned. But then she pressed harder and nuzzled deeper. And it was spectacular.

His lips were _incredible_. Soft and lush and firm. They greedily brushed their slightly opened mouths back and forth. But they weren't teasing. Not anymore.

He deepened the kiss, licking at the seam of her lips. And she gave him entrance. Her stomach dropped at the first brush of his tongue and taste of his mouth.

Before it had been passionate. Hot. Delicious. Now it was out of control. A wildfire that threatened to burn down all her barriers, all her doubts. Because he was here with her, kissing her and being kissed like they were two starving beggars at a feast.

Her hands tangled in his hair, the same brown locks that she had stared at for months, wondering if it was as soft as it looked. It was. She pulled him closer, threading her fingers against his scalp and feeling him shudder against her. His taste, his scent, his feel—it was intoxicating. That was the only way to describe the drunken and desperate euphoria that was pounding through her veins.

She had to touch him, had to feel his skin under her hands. It wasn't a want but a need. A pounding craving that screamed through her body. _More, more, more._ She was downright greedy with the desire to touch him. Her fingers slipped under the back of his shirt, sliding and slightly scratching up the silken skin of his lower back. At the same moment, his hands quickly untied the knot holding her coat together and reached inside to plant on her waist. He pressed her even harder against the car, her calves chilled by the cold metal. Their bodies were notched against one in the same manner as they had been during their dance on New Year's Eve.

But this wasn't a dance. This was a seduction. But more than that she noticed exactly what their kiss was doing to him. He was hard and pulsing. She could feel his whole body vibrating against hers.

Of course knew that he had some speedforce-induced reaction to arousing stimuli. But he had never shared exactly what it entailed. And she had never dared to ask. It seemed too personal, even as a question from his personal physician. She already knew far more than anyone else about the anatomy of his body. He deserved to keep a few details to himself.

But when she felt the subtle vibrations, it was the most erotic thing he had done this entire time. She was arousing him. She enflamed him, just as he enflamed her. It was potent. Powerful to think that she was doing this to Barry Allen.

She shuddered in realization. She pulled her mouth away from his to throw her head back. He took advantage of her ecstasy and traced her cheek with his lips, slipping down to her to her neck. Every damp breath he took sent a fission of want straight to her core. She was hot. Burning. She wanted more, so much more.

His thumbs brushed against the undersides of her breasts and she arched into his nearly there hands. She wanted his hands all over her body. On her breasts. Between her thighs. Inside her. Everywhere, because that's exactly what she wanted to do with her own.

"See, Cait? I am the hot and heavy kind," he whispered, his lips tracing her ear

Her eyelids fluttered in quick confusion. _What?_ And then her drunken words at the bar came back to her. _You're really the hot and heavy kind._

It was if her whole body had been dipped in liquid nitrogen. She froze. And cracked. Then fractured into a million pieces.

Because this wasn't a moment of long-anticipated passion. This was a final move in a calculated game. One he'd been playing since the morning after she had mistakenly issued that challenge.

He must've noticed the stiffness of her body, because he pulled back from her neck. His lips were swollen, his hair even more mussed, and his body still gave off slight pulses. He was a very heady picture of desire…and yet, she was repulsed by his words, by her still aroused response, by herself.

"Cait?" he asked, his eyes concerned. It was strange how one word that had affected her so much before, and now it bounced off her icy exterior.

As she looked in to his lush eyes, brimming with what had previously thought was unchained passion, now she only saw calculation. A thousand thoughts ran through her head. A hundred moments that she thought all lead to this. And now the illusion was shattered.

He wasn't here for her. He was here to prove a point. And prove it he had.

"What's wrong?" he inquired after her lengthy silence. She gently pushed him away, giving herself enough room to slide away from his body and lean against the side view mirror. The air in the parking structure felt even colder without his body warming her.

She shivered coldly in her shame. He didn't want her. She was a warm body provoking the right reaction. This wasn't special. For him, it was an old challenge settled in a pleasing manner.

"You're right," she responded, trying to quell the tremor in her voice. "You're the hot and heavy kind. Point taken."

His eyes widened as he said, "Cait, you know I didn't mean it that way. I was—"

She put her hand up and closed her eyes. "It's fine. It doesn't matter. This was clearly a mistake."

"Cait—"he took a step towards her, his arms offered up in silent comfort.

"A mistake, Barry," she said firmly, "a mistake." Her hands were up defensively, as if she could ward off the hurt of his cold comfort in this moment. One touch and she would crumble. One gentle gesture from this kind man and she would let loose the tears that burned in the back of her throat. Barry was usually the one to piece back together her broken pieces. Not with this. Never with this.

Somehow he seemed to understand. Or at least, he accepted it. He took a step back, giving her space. The distance between them was a mere five feet and yet it felt vast.

With a tight nod, he flashed away.

She slid down the side of her car as the last bit of yellow lightening disappeared. And with face in her hands, she sobbed.

End of Chapter

 **Oh, angst, sweet angst. I think this chapter was haunting me because I've been having these really intense** ** _Flash_** **dreams lately. For example, last night I had a dream that I was Caitlin (I'm always Caitlin), and I had to save Barry in Earth 2. Not that unrealistic, sure. Then part of my mission then morphed into this scene where Barry was going to lose his virginity with Iris. Of course, I had to shut that shit down. Anyways, it was quite distressing. What's the consensus on Barry's V-card? (I also have thoughts on Mr. Darcy's too) I'm a dirty pervert, which is exactly why I write this type of stuff, so play along then. We haven't seen him get "hot and heavy" with anyone yet, which is a nice change from** ** _Arrow_** **where Oliver Queen was banging hotties left and right. My guess is that Mr. Allen had some type of seriousish girlfriend in college, probably when he was trying to forget Iris. Guesses? Ideas? Thoughts? Please review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Be forewarned: this is a bit of filler.**

 _Never shall I recollect the occasion he gave me displeasure, without feeling it renewed._

 _-Frances Burney,_ Evelina (read this book)

Chapter 6

That night she showered until the water ran cold, all the while listening to Adele and taking huge swigs straight from a bottle of expensive Riesling. A bath would've been more practical, but the sound of the water and the harmonious voice of her favorite songstress drowned out any thoughts strong enough to overcome the alcohol.

And she had scrubbed her neck over and over again. Her mouth too, using her hands and later a washcloth to rid herself of his taste, any additional germs of his that might still linger on her skin. It was juvenile, she knew, like she was practically trying to remove Barry's cooties. Yet once she stepped out of the shower unsteadily, she did feel better. The wine had loosened her limbs and relaxed her mind. She couldn't feel the ghosts of Barry's hands, his lips, his breathes on her body.

Well, barely. Not much really. At least that's what she thought after she climbed in bed. And sleep came, quickly and without preamble.

But she woke up a few hours later. 3:19, that's what the green digits of her clock said. Her mouth was dry. Apparently, she'd had more wine than she intended. Sweet wine always did pack a punch. Stumbling tiredly (and she grudgingly admitted, a tiny bit tipsily) to the bathroom for a glass from the tap, she caught sight of herself in the mirror.

Her eyes were no longer red or puffy from her dramatic carside cry. Her hair was half dry and wild from a quick dash to bed after her shower. But it wasn't either of those things that kept her attention. It was her pajamas. The gray and white polka dot pajamas. The ones that Barry had chosen for her in February.

She let out a growl of pure frustration. Even subconsciously she couldn't escape Barry Allen.

God, she had fucked up. Monumentally.

She had let a few moments of weakness, a few sighs of her name change absolutely everything between them. Because kissing someone, damn near dry humping and groping them in the parking structure, was always bound to change e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.

In all her planning and delays and subversions, she had never imagined that she would be the one to give in. She was in control; she was _always_ in control. That was how she liked it. Proper and professional and friendly. Not hot and heavy. Not sensual and erotic.

And he had proved his point. Barry was the hot and heavy kind, of that she was most definitely sure.

She finished her glass of water and headed back to bed.

On some very deep level, she knew he probably hadn't meant it that way. He was vibrating with desire, consumed with want for her. And yet, she wasn't ready to acknowledge that. She still couldn't. Because it had sliced open her insides and left her bleeding on the floor. Why, why, why of all the things did he have to say that at that particular moment?

She also wanted to put distance between them, and he had given her the perfect excuse. But he had tweaked her pride, had pricked, even unintentionally, an open wound in her soul, the very thing that even Ronnie had difficulty understanding.

Because she wanted to be wanted. Not just for her body or her brain or her kindness. But for her. For all the parts of her. And when he had uttered those words in the middle of their snog session, it had hurt. Because it made something beautiful and sensual into something tawdry.

It made her feel like a body, not a woman.

Before he had said that, she felt like it was _her_. It was Cait doing that to him. Cait making him hard, Cait making him vibrate.

When he said those impactful words…it had made it all seemed so indifferent.

Indifference, that was always the cruelest trick of all. But it hadn't felt indifferent. Or had it? Was his pursuit really genuine? Or was it driven by a need to prove her wrong? They'd had fights before, but she'd never thought Barry so…cold, so calculating. Could he be now? It all seemed so muddled together that she wans't sure what was true any longer.

It just hurt. Pain that still laced through her chest, even now, hours later.

She closed her eyes and tried to get back to sleep. It was no use examining it, she told herself.. Whether he meant it or not, whether their kiss was real or not didn't change anything. It was still as she had said, a mistake.

But more than that, it didn't matter what she felt or didn't feel, or did or didn't do. He would leave. Everyone she ever loved always left her. They just did. Death. Betrayal. Returns to other earths. Ronnie. Dr. Wells. Jay. Everyone.

She used to think that it was plain bad luck, but she knew better now. There was something about her that didn't…couldn't compel others to stay.

She was good for the moment, for a quick time together. Even a stretch of a few years. But long devotion wasn't her lot. Extended relationships just didn't happen. Heroes or villians always had bigger plans. And she wasn't part of it. Excluded, that's what they did. Took away her choice because they didn't care or love her enough. Even as deeply and earnestly as she and Ronnie had loved one another, well, it had ended that way too.

Barry would leave her. He just would. Deep in her heart, she knew, _she knew_ , that he would one day. She couldn't afford to love him, couldn't afford to care beyond measure. Because he'd leave, one way or another, he'd leave. Given her track record, it was only logical. And cruel logic was her only comfort in this situation.

She needed him too much already. Had already let herself get so deeply consumed by him.

And removing him from her life would be impossible. He was like a hand. Or a leg. Or her head. Amputating him entirely would kill her. She wouldn't do it.

And if they crossed into the sweet uncharted territory of courtship and romance, she knew that his leaving would destroy her. Not even Ronnie's dual death had done that. But Barry…she feared already that she was stamping her passport for that trip.

She still felt hurt and humiliated and confused and sad and terrified. And desperate, so incredibly desperate for this to be over. To undo the last few hours. To end her sanity and the heaviness of her heart. To end this brutal turmoil that only twisted her mind in knots.

She didn't want these feelings. None of it. Not the pain, not the pleasure, not the raw, unbridled love that was threatening to maim her very soul. It was too heavy a burden for her damaged body. She couldn't take more pain, especially if she could avoid it.

She only wanted to be Barry's friend. Truly. Absolutely.

Maybe.

Never.

End of Chapter

 **Please review, you delightful reader, you!**

 **Ok, so some small coffee talk. Spoilers for most recent episodes.**

 **Can we talk about Jay's HUGE "Zoom stole my speed" lie? And Patty, too? The fake robber on a train so she could see if Barry was really the Flash? I take back most of what I said about those two; now they've pissed me off. Especially Jay, because the writers REALLY glossed over that. No one's saying that Zoom is up for a Nobel Peace Prize any time soon, but pay unto Caesar what is Caesar's, am I right? Also, did anyone catch Caitlin TOTALLY checking out Barry's tush in that episode? I mean, come one, writers, just give us SnowBarry already. Too much has happened since I last updated, which clearly means that I need to update sooner. I promise, I do, I'm trying here. Leave your thoughts and any major annoyances in your review. I love hearing them. Seriously.**

 **No, seriously, I had a 10 minute conversation with a student (uh, I'm a professor, for Christ's sake) about SnowBarry and the Flash on Friday.**

 **I need you, or else I'll chat with unsuspecting undergrads.**


	7. Chapter 7

**This is a cliffhanger.**

 **You will hate me.**

 **I accept that.**

 _You lethargic, waiting upon me,  
waiting for the fire and I  
attendant upon you, shaken by your beauty_

 _Shaken by your beauty_  
 _Shaken._

-William Carlos Williams

Chapter 7

For the next week, he gave her a wide berth. A very wide berth. They only exchanged salutations and farewells.

"Hi, Barry."

"Hey, Caitlin."

"Bye, Barry."

"Bye, Caitlin."

And he barely stayed in STAR labs for more than 5 minutes at a time. He flashed in for his suit and flashed out. They spoke over the comms when necessary, taking out two metahumans without any injuries. While she was always grateful when Barry was uninjured, it was especially good that week.

On the one hand, she was grateful for the time apart. Facing him that next morning had been…painful, to say the least. But it was merely, "Hey, Caitlin" followed by nothing else. No recriminations. No excuses. No apologies. No "we need to talks." While irrational, it had angered her, incensed her even. How dare Barry Allen make out with her in a parking lot and then pretend that nothing happened?

Oh right, because she had called it a mistake. And it was, a mistake, still. But the unease in the lab coupled with her own residual hurt about the incident created a barrier between them larger than any wall Trump wanted to build in Texas.

But more than that, she had no idea how they were going to get past this. Should she make the first move towards reconciliation? Should he? Was she even ready to hear whatever he had to say? Did he even care?

She wanted to lay blame on someone; Barry seemed the easiest target. But she had consented to his kiss, had even kissed him first. Maybe it had gone awry at the end, and maybe that was his fault. And it was a mistake. Or was it? Her mind was so muddled with recriminations for them both that it seemed impossible to sort the enormous pile of blame standing between them.

Everything—the lust, the passion, the pain, the disappointment, the expectations—all of it was twisted like a vise around her heart, protecting her and killing her at the same time.

In all honesty, she just wanted everything back to normal. Before this whole "situation" had taken over. To last year, last spring, last some time before she felt a clawing need for Barry. She wasn't even sure when that was. Honestly, she couldn't remember a time when she hadn't felt something…more for Barry.

Stupid heart, useless brain, ridiculous body. And all of it drawn to foolish, sexy, kind, and reckless Barry Allen, who she couldn't decide if she wanted or despised.

But hurt, the open wound of her pride, gagged her.

It was frustrating, maddening, and draining. Especially after a week. However, it was even worse tonight. Because tonight he had decided to stay for more time than usual, no longer deterred by the tension between them.

She was at her desk, working on perfecting the chemical formula for the speed serum. He was laughing in the Cortex with Cisco, and the beautiful, melodic sound of his enjoyment was tearing at her fragile nerves. Usually the sounds of their combined laughter and ridiculous antics made her smile; tonight it made her want to cry.

She felt her nose burn and a lump form in her throat. She needed to escape. But she couldn't leave STAR Labs. The formula was almost done, nearly ready. Leaving wasn't an option. She belong

But already tears were forming in her eyes. Now. Fast. Quick. Go, her brain screamed, needing one moment of peace away from the taunting sound of his voice and joviality.

Promptly, she stood and walked to the former makeshift bedroom in the Cortex. The white privacy curtains flapped behind her. A deep sigh of relief torn through her, even as a single tear trailed down her check.

She wiped it away with rough hands. God, when had she become such a ninny? Crying, repeatedly, at work seemed like the behavior of someone who needed psychological intervention. She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyes, stopping the flow of any ruthless tears.

"Bye, Cait," she heard from the other side of the curtain. It was Cisco.

"Bye," she responded, glad that her voice didn't sound too thick.

"Bye," Barry called.

"Bye," she replied, exceptionally glad that he was leaving too.

Taking another deep breath, she massaged her temples with her previously used fingers. This would get better. It had to get better. She needed it to get better.

"This is an unusual space. I've never been in here," a voice said from behind her.

She startled, turning quickly in surprise to find herself face-to-face with Barry. Why, oh why, did he always have to do that? Sneak up on her when she was trying to escape.

"Well, we haven't had much use for it since you woke up. I keep the extra medical supplies here," she responded softly, indicating the piles of bandages and bottles of clear liquid stacked neatly on shelves.

Even though they didn't use it any longer, it was still meticulously organized. They no longer slept there, and now it was hers. Touches

He surveyed the room and then frowned, "Is that a bed?"

"Uhhhh, yes," she blushed. The small twin bed was pushed against the back wall to the right. A lab sink and mirror was to the left, with a metal table wedged between them.

"It hardly looks big enough to fit anyone," he said, frowning at the offending object. She could tell he was avoiding direct eye contact. It made her edgy, especially talking about a bed. What was he on about? Why was he here?

She shrugged, moving to the sink and washing her hands for something to do. No use in him finding out she came in here to cry. And escape him. "I found it comfortable enough."

His reflection in the mirror looked genuinely puzzled. "Wait, you slept here? When I was in a coma?"

"Well, we all did. Not all of us the same time, obviously, but yes, I slept here," she stammered. She didn't tell him how frequently she stayed. That seemed too…personal, especially now.

She looked over at the bed again, thinking of all the times that she had woken up to a nightmare about the particle accelerator and Ronnie stuck in the pipeline, only to hear the sound of Barry's heart monitor. How it had soothed. How it had comforted her. How, even now, she used the sound app on her phone to play a heartbeat when she woke in the middle of the night.

But she couldn't say that now.

Instead, she said, drying her hands with a physician's attention to detail, "I am your personal physician, Barry. It was…is my job to take care of you."

She looked up, only to find him staring at her reflection with something indiscernible.

"Cait, look, about the other night..."

Their reckoning had finally arrived.

God help her.

End of Chapter

 **I know. Review anyway?**


	8. Chapter 8

_Kiss me and see how important I am._

-Sylvia Plath

Chapter 8

She turned to face him and tried to casually lean against the table. "It's fine," she responded brightly. Too brightly.

He clenched his teeth in a quick flash of frustration. "No, it's not fine. I shouldn't have said what I said. It was stupid. I'm sorry."

His hands were his pockets and his eyes darting between hers and the ground. He was contrite, she realized.

He continued softly, "You must know, you have to know that I didn't mean it that way."

She gulped. Did she know? Did she believe him? Yes, she realized, yes, he was sorry. But that was almost worse, because if it wasn't calculated and cold, then it was something much more dangerous. The truth was pressing on her, and yet it was a stronger force than needed.

"Yes, I know," she explained. He visibly relaxed. She felt relieved too; she didn't want to see him upset. It screwed up his face in strange, unnatural ways. Barry, who had suffered so much pain, should always be happy. If it was in her power to grant it, she would.

But she couldn't delve any further into this. She didn't have enough emotional energy saved up to deal with the fallout. It was too dangerous. He was too dangerous; his sadness, his apology, his pain, his proximity. It was more potent and terrible to her than anything else. "You're forgiven."

He looked skeptical, so she continued, "Really, Barry. We're fine. It's fine." When he still frowned, she smiled despite herself. "I mean it. Really."

"So we're ok?" he asked, shuffling a bit closer.

There was something in his voice that she didn't quite understand. _We're ok_? Well, of course, the two people here were ok. Was there more? Surely he didn't think there was more. What could he mean? No, no, no, she couldn't delve deeper into this. That was a promise. NO misreading. No interpreting. No further introspection of any kind. She'd already forgiven; now they must forget. For both their sakes.

"Yes. Now we can forget the entire thing happened."

There was a long pause.

"Forget it?"he replied as if the words were poison in his mouth.

The light smile slipped from her face. "Yes. Forget it. Obviously." Nonchalance was her friend. Her motto. Her desperate prayer. This wouldn't affect them; it couldn't. Surely he didn't want that. It was only a moment of weakness. Only a kiss. A simple kiss. A simple, passionate, mind-blowing kiss that made her toes curl and her skin sing. But it was a kiss. Just a kiss. Oh. God. It was right?

But she should've known Barry wouldn't let it go. He was too dogged, too stubborn for a simple word of forgiveness and a quick dismissal. Abruptly, she straightened and made for the door. Run, run, run: the Caitlin Snow tactic for dealing with awkward encounters.

She didn't get more than two steps away from the table before he stepped closer, all green eyes and open expression. She knew what he planned to say. Oh God. She knew already. How was it that she always knew?

"Cait…Cait," he rasped, putting his hand on her stiff arm. "I don't think I'll ever be able to forget."

"Barry…"she started, closing her eyes in pleasureable frustration.

"I mean it, Cait. We kissed. It meant something."

"Barry, it was a mistake…"she mustered in response. This was what she practiced. And it was a mistake. Logic dictated that kissing one's collegues was always a terrible idea.

"Was it? Because I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, and that was definitely not one of them."

She took a step back, removing herself from his touch and putting some much needed distance between them. "It wasn't real, Barry. It was just lust and loneliness. We got caught up in the moment."

She repeated the arguments that she'd constructed over and over in her head. It was wrong. They were lonely. Adults had…sexual needs. They kissed, so what? So what? So WHAT? It was easier to pretend it was something else. If she made him believe it, maybe she'd believe it herself.

He looked wounded. She wanted to wound him. Just a little. Just enough for him to let her leave this room with her pride and mind unscathed.

But Barry was a fighter; he wouldn't let her go that easily. "I've experienced both lust and loneliness before, Cait. And that's not what it was. Admit that. Admit it to yourself, at least."

She shook her head with eyes closed.

He continued, "There is something between us. I feel it and I think you feel it too."

She couldn't. She wouldn't. She didn't want to. Because that meant opening up her heart to endless, deep lashes of pain. Barry Allen would kill her. Loving him, wanting him would destroy her. She was vulnerable. She wanted to be strong. Not weak, never weak for another man's love.

"Caitlin, I can't stop thinking about you. About kissing you. About touching you." A thrill shot through her, too quickly for her to squelch. But his next words startled her. "What are you so afraid of? Why are you holding back?"

She turned away to face the table, hands braced apart as she leaned slightly forward on it. "I just…I can't. You won't understand."

"I want to understand."

"I can't, Barry, I just can't," she responded dejectedly. He wouldn't understand. He couldn't. He might know loss and heartbreak and pain, but he wouldn't understand. He saw only possibility; she saw the practicality. They worked together. They were friends. It couldn't work.

There was a long pause. One part of her wanted him to walk…or streak out the door. The other wanted him to never leave. Ever.

 _Please go. Please go. Please go_ , her mind repeated.

He sighed. Another pause.

 _Please stay. Please stay. Please go. Stay. Go. Now. Before I turn around._

"Then I want you to understand me," he responded softly.

Understand him? What? How? Why?

Abruptly, he spun her into his arms. And he kissed her. Hard and swift. Surprising her. Consuming her. Thrilling her. It was nothing like their passionate kiss in the garage.

She was done fighting the attraction for the moment. She wasn't capable of resisting him. Not anymore.

This was hot and heavy.

FINIS

 **It's been a while. You're amazing for sticking with me. I hate that I'm unable to finish these two off right now.**

 **Also, I got a tenure-track professor job, which about as likely in my field as turning from a regular person into a unicorn. It's been a wild few months**.


End file.
